Transference
by prepare4trouble
Summary: When Erik discovers how badly Charles was injured on the beach, he spends months searching for a mutant with the power to heal. He finally finds one and convinces him to help. Charles agrees, but only because he doesn't know that the injury can't be cured, only transferred to someone else, and naturally Erik has volunteered himself. Old fic. Kinkmeme prompt. Post 1st Class.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - Old fic this. Originally written in the summer of 2011, just after First Class came out, it was a response to a kink meme prompt. The request was:

"When Erik discovers how badly Charles was injured on the beach, he spends months searching for a mutant with the power to heal. He finally finds one and convinces him/her to help. Charles agrees, but only becuase he doesn't know that the injury can't be cured, only transferred to someone else, and naturally Erik has volunteered himself."

I never finished it back then, and I'd forgotten all about it until I opened my X-Men fic folder after the new movie and found it. Now I want to finish it. Please let me know what you think, and if it's worth continuing.

Of course, I don't own the X-Men themselves. Just the movies and about 20 years worth of comics.

* * *

Transference

"Are you sure you understand what you're agreeing to?"

Erik nodded, arms folded and staring down at the mutant standing before him. He had searched for months to find someone like him, and if his power wasn't exactly what he had hoped for, so be it. Perhaps he even deserved this. After all, what happened had been his fault.

The mutant was just a kid, barely seventeen and looking much younger. He was dark haired, slim to the point of being skinny, and apparently unable to keep still. As he stood, he constantly clenched and unclenched his fists, tapped his feet and folded and unfolded his arms. His was an invisible mutation, and one very, very valuable.

"This guy must mean a lot to you," he said.

Erik didn't reply.

* * *

He had expected Charles to resist. He wasn't sure why.

Although they had gone their separate ways and embraced different philosophies, they were still friends. Or at the very least, they were not enemies. Not yet. Though it occasionally appeared to be heading in that direction.

Resistance would have meant that their path from friends to enemies was complete. Only someone with a huge grudge would refuse to accept such a gift. And he expected a grudge, of course he did, but Erik was offering to put right the damage he had done. He didn't know why he expected resistance.

Maybe he didn't so much expect it as want it. An excuse not to go through with the plan.

But Charles had been so very Charles. polite, conversational, willing to invite him inside to talk. Yet he was different too. He didn't smile as much any more. Erik wondered whether that was just for him.

When he brought up the reason for his visit, Charles had gone very still, very thoughtful. A hand rubbed his thigh as he sat in his chair, not responding. Erik had left on his helmet, allowing him to keep the second half of the plan from him.

"If you can truly do this," Charles had told him, "then I can hardly refuse."

* * *

The young healer chewed on his bottom lip. His arms were folded across his chest in what looked like a defensive posture. He was young, but older than many of his students. Charles resisted the urge to read his mind, find out who he was, where he came from, and what had led him to follow Erik.

"You _sure_ about this?" he asked, directing his question to Erik, who was sitting on the sofa looking tense and apprehensive. Charles frowned. Something about this was wrong, something didn't quite make sense. Eric was still wearing his helmet, blocking his thoughts.

"Do it," Erik told the boy.

Before he could call a stop to the proceedings, the healer reached over and gripped Charles' hand tightly with one hand, then took Erik's in the other. Physical contact enhances telepathic abilities, and Charles slammed closed his mind against a barrage of thought. Some things leaked through. Parts of the boys past, his discovery of his mutation and how that mutation worked.

The moment he realized what was happening, Charles tried to pull back his hand, but he was unable to break contact. The boy's eyes were closed tightly, face screwed in concentration. Charles turned to look at Erik, eyes wide and pleading. He knew in that moment what a fool he had been. He never should have trusted Erik. Without the ability to read his mind, his former friend could have in fact been planning anything. The story of healing abilities could have been a complete lie, instead of an... exaggeration.

He was frozen in the moment, helpless to prevent what was already happening. He felt sensation return to his legs slowly, beginning as a slight tingle that quickly spread as the nerve damage was reversed and muscle that had begun to waste through disuse was rebuilt. It was uncomfortable, not painful, but strange, and the fact that he was feeling something, anything at all, was wonderful.

He couldn't take his eyes off Erik. He watched as the opposite happened to his friend, watched the subtle and ill-disguised changes to his expression as feeling was stolen from his lower limbs, as the ability to walk was taken from him, and as the muscles of his legs began to wither before his eyes. Charles only hoped that feeling was lost before that happened.

Finally, the boy released his grip on both of them and took a step back. Charles found himself running a hand over one of his legs, relishing the ability to feel. He wriggled his toes, and they responded. He felt strong. He could run.

He didn't stand. He could have, but he didn't. Erik had been cruel to do this to him; to offer him this gift knowing that he wouldn't be able to keep it. He looked at the boy with stern eyes. "Undo it," he said.

The boy didn't look well. He had grown pale, and this face was damp with sweat. He took a shaky breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and then lost consciousness.

Charles reacted instinctively, his body knowing what to do before his mind could process. He pushed himself up, out of the wheelchair, stepped forward and caught the boy before he hit the ground.

He lowered him gently onto the floor, sparing him the bruises he might otherwise have caused himself, then stood up straight and looked down at his feet in wonder. He was standing on strong, fully functional legs. He had been told it was impossible. But then, in his world he had long ceased to believe that anything was impossible.

He looked at Erik, sitting just a few feet away, on the sofa.

"It exhausts him, using his power for something like this," his friend explained. He spoke softly, eyes fixed on Charles' own. "He'll need a day or so to recover. I trust you have a spare room?"

Charles nodded, not able to brink himself to speak. Erik was sitting very still, immobility not confined to the lower half of his body. His breathing was slow and measured, and one hand, resting on the arm of his seat, was gripping the fabric tightly, as though he was afraid that he might fall.

"Good," he said, sounding entirely too calm. "So, how do you feel?"

The question was difficult. He felt wonderful. Standing on his own two feet, master once again of his own body. He felt free, no longer a prisoner of his limitations. He felt such intense relief. He felt anger at Erik for not telling him the price of his cure, and he felt guilt, because he couldn't help but want to keep it anyway.

"I..." he said, then shook his head. "I'll arrange for somewhere for the boy to sleep, then we need to talk about this, Erik."

* * *

Charles called for help telepathically, and several of the students arrived quickly. Some new ones that Erik didn't recognize barely gave him a glance, but for the others, his presence caused almost as much of a sensation as the fact that Charles was walking.

Charles was angry. Erik could see it in the tension he was carrying. He quieted the questions with a promise to answer them later, and ushered the others out of the room with instructions to make up a room, leaving Erik alone. For a moment, the solitude was a relief, but he quickly grew irritated when no one returned. He felt strange. Unless he was looking down, the lower half of his body was just... gone. He brushed his legs with the tips of his fingers, and felt nothing. Fingers pressed harder into the flesh, searching for sensation, for something to prove that they were a part of him. Nothing.

He felt trapped, fixed in place and immobilized. It was frightening.

He could sense the metal he had placed inside the fabric of his clothing, in his shoes, his trousers. He would be able to manipulate it, allowing himself to move, after a fashion. Better than Charles could, at least. He had practiced before he came here. It had seemed so easy at the time. Now, suddenly, the idea was daunting, more akin to flying than walking, and he couldn't fly. Not really. He could hover, manipulating the sources of metal around him, pushing and pulling on them to allow him to move around. It looked impressive, and it had proved useful at times, but it wouldn't work for daily use.

Tentatively, he concentrated on the metal woven into his clothing, pulling it upward, making himself stand. At the same time, he pushed and pulled against every other magnetic material in the room. He rose from the couch, and half hovered, legs slightly bent at the knee. He pushed downward on the metal in his shoes, forcing his legs to straighten, looking almost like they were supporting him. He felt incredibly precarious, hovering in the air above his legs as though they were no more a part of him than the carpet on which he appeared to be standing. This wasn't going to work. At least, this wasn't going to work yet. In time, he would master it. Until then, he would practice somewhere where there was less chance of someone walking in on him.

Frustrated, he released his hold on the metal and fell back to the couch. He landed a little wrong, and fell to the side as he did, ending up almost laying down. He gripped the back of the sofa with his hands, and pulled himself up into a sitting position.

If felt so strange, so wrong. He had barely stopped to think about that, so fixated on how he would move around. To think, Charles had lived like this for a year. He had done this to him.

He glanced around the room, eyes finally fixing on the wheelchair where until recently, Charles had sat.

"Erik."

Erik looked up in surprise to see that Charles had re-entered the room without him noticing. "Charles," he responded.

"What were you thinking?" Charles asked. His arms were folded across his chest, and his voice was full of emotion.

Erik shook his head. "My thoughts are my own," he said, touching the side of his helmet with one hand and forcing a smile.

"It was cruel of you to offer me something you knew I couldn't accept," Charles told him.

"But you did accept it," he replied.

Charles crossed the room and sat down on the sofa next to him. He sighed, and spoke softly. "Thank you for the offer, my friend, but as soon as he is recovered, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask our guest to reverse what he has done."

It would be so easy, to just agree, acquiesce to the understanding that Charles would never allow this to happen, and let him enjoy a day or so of being healed before things were put right. But Charles was right, that would be cruel. It was done, and it would remain done. Erik knew that he was responsible. Sooner or later, one of them would recruit a mutant that was a true healer, until then, he would live with the consequences of his own actions.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I won't allow that, Charles. I'm too stubborn to back out now."

The telepath pursed his lips in irritation. Erik was glad of the helmet that shielded his thoughts. He had to appear decisive and certain about what he was doing. Charles mustn't know how he felt. Of course, Charles probably already did know. Even without his telepathy, he would be intimately aware of how Erik likely felt. Erik looked at his friend thoughtfully. How hard it must be for him to turn down this gift. If their positions were reversed, he wondered whether he would be able to do the same.

Finally, Charles sighed. He got to his feet and began to walk away. "Okay, Erik, have it your way," he said. "I'll have your old room made up for you. It's on the second floor, but I've had a lift installed."

Erik thought he detected a knowing smirk as he turned and strode away, leaving the master of magnetism sit on the sofa, puzzling out the best way of moving himself from his current position into the chair not three feet away. _'Well played, Charles' _ he thought, glad still that he couldn't be heard.


	2. Chapter 2

In the kitchen, Alex and Sean were sitting at the table, talking in low voices. As Charles entered, they immediately quietened and looked at him, their minds were full of questions.

Sean was the first to voice one. "So," he asked, grinning widely, "what's it like to be healed?"

Charles shook his head. "I'm not,"

"Funny," Alex said, "because I could have sworn you just walked in here."

"Erik failed to mention that his 'cure' required the injury to be transferred to somebody else," Charles explained. "Obviously, I can't allow that."

Sean and Alex exchanged a disturbed glance. "So, who did he transfer it to?" Sean asked.

"To himself," Charles told him. He sat down on one of the chairs around the table, paused, and then got to his feet again. This was temporary, he might as well use it while he could.

Alex frowned. "I don't see the problem," he said. "It's his fault you were injured in the first place, let him deal with it instead."

Charles shook his head. "I fear that may be his thinking too, and I blame myself for that."

"Yeah, well," Alex said. "I blame him too."

"Regardless," Charles said, "as soon as our new friend is recovered, I'm going to have to ask him to reverse what he has done." He frowned. Using his power in this way clearly took a lot out of the young mutant. It seemed unfair to ask him to undo his actions so quickly, at presumably the same cost. But it was unavoidable.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Sean asked, "I mean, you've got a day? Two? Might as well make the most of it."

Charles couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he considered the possibilities. Just for a little while. "I don't know," he said. "But I'm sure I'll think of something."

* * *

Erik pulled the chair closer, dragging its metal toward him. Once it was in position, using the same method that had allowed him to hover so precariously before, he slowly rose to what looked almost like a standing position, edged himself forward, and lowered himself into the chair. Once he was in position, he grabbed his legs, one at a time with both hands, and pulled them up, placing his feet on the footrests. That done, he stopped and took a breath. It was strange, unpleasantly strange. And exhausting too, both mentally and physically as he attempted to plan every minute movement in his mind before it could take place.

Still, he had successfully moved from the couch to the chair. After only an hour or so of paralysis. This only served to prove his theory; that he was better equip to handle this than Charles.

Okay, a lift, Charles had said. An elevator. Where would he have had such a thing installed?

Erik reached out with his power and found a large source of metal near the center of the mansion. He reached down, and began to maneuver the chair in its direction. It moved awkwardly, at though reluctant to follow his commands He used his mastery of magnetism to coax it in the correct direction. That was something that Charles couldn't do. Another reason why he should be the one to shoulder this burden.

His hands still turned the wheels, though his power was the main force that propelled the chair. He remembered the layout of the mansion perfectly, he had lived here. For a time, this had been his home, and that had been one of the few times in his life that he had been truly happy.

As he passed the kitchen, he almost hit Alex Summers. He was treated to a cold look, before his former teammate stalked away. Charles exited after him. Seeing Erik, he stopped for a moment, staring at him in surprise, as though he hadn't expected to see him. _Most likely he hadn't._ Erik's mind supplied. After all, Charles had clearly assumed that he would be trapped on the sofa until someone came to assist him, not understanding the logistics of transferring his body from one seat to another.

He had to admit, if not for his powers, he would have been exactly where Charles expected. These were things that had to be learned, both through tuition and experience.

* * *

True to his word, Charles had had the room prepared for him. When he had done this, Erik wasn't sure. Either he had requested someone do it telepathically, or it had already been ready for him.

He glanced around. The room looked unchanged since he had been there last. He had left that day expecting to return. Things had not gone to plan. He traveled light, and a glance around the room revealed nothing that was his, but still he got the impression that everything here remained almost untouched since the last time he had inhabited the room.

Raven had lived here for a long time. Her former room would be filled with possessions and mementos, things that she had never once mentioned returning for. Erik wondered whether her room had been left equally untouched. Presumably. Charles, ever the optimist, preparing for their eventual return.

He felt tempted to go to her room, just to see. Maybe there was something there that he could take back for her. His hands brushed the wheels of Charles' chair and he decided that perhaps another time would be better.

"Found it okay, then?" Charles said from behind him.

Erik turned at the unexpected voice, and nodded. "I haven't been gone that long."

Charles nodded. He stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and pulled out the wooden chair from underneath the desk. He turned it around to face Erik, and sat, bringing them both to near eye-level. "No, I suppose not," he said softly. "It just feels like it sometimes."

Erik didn't reply. He wanted to look away, but found himself unable to move under the strength of Charles' gaze. His helmet was still in place, the effect couldn't possibly be the result of Charles' ability.

"Tell me," Charles said, staring at him searchingly. "Why did you do this?"

"Because..." Erik paused, trying to think of an appropriate answer. His fingers itched to pull off the helmet shielding his thoughts, leaving them open for Charles to read and understand. It would be so much easier than having to express himself verbally, but he couldn't do it.

Along with the guilt at his recklessness that day on the beach, his certainty that this was the only way to set things right, the twisted and – even he had to admit now – slightly insulting conviction that he could handle the disability better, and his intense desire to see Charles healed, the telepath would also pick up on other things. Such as the sense of helplessness that he had not expected, and the more unpleasant memories that that feeling provoked.

Those, of course, Charles had seen before. He had made no secret of the fact that he had casually read Erik's mind, along with the minds of almost anyone whose path he happened to cross. What bothered Erik the most was the exposure of his more recent thoughts.

"Because?" Charles repeated. "Not much of an answer."

Erik shook his head. "Does it really matter why?" he asked. "Surely, the important thing is that it is done. You should be happy. Not only are you fully healed, but I, your... rival, am now incapacitated, as you were."

Charles pursed his lips in irritation. Erik looked at him. His friend had barely changed in the year they had been apart. He looked a little older, perhaps, but the same was true of most of them, and Charles had been forced to endure a lot. Erik wished he would smile. "One thing you don't seem to realize, my friend," he said, getting to his feet to leave. "I was far from incapacitated. My mutation was unaffected by my injury, and I have learned that there is surprisingly little that I did before that I can no longer do."

"It's not quite the same any more though, is it?" Erik asked.

Charles hesitated before he left, staring into his eyes searchingly, and for a moment, Erik was convinced that the telepath had somehow penetrated his protective helmet and accessed the additional meaning behind that statement. Nothing was quite the same any more. Not since they had gone their separate ways.

"No," Charles agreed, "It isn't."

With that, he turned and left quickly, leaving Erik with no choice but to watch him go.


	3. Chapter 3

It was mid afternoon on a warm summer's day, and the grounds were lovely. Days like this reminded him of his childhood. The good parts. The parts where he and Raven would go out in the morning and not come back until the sun was down, spending the day, playing, experimenting with their still developing abilities and talking about the future. Never once had they come up with something close to how it actually went,

He wondered where Raven was in all this. Whether she had known what Eric was planning, whether she had supported it, and most importantly, why she hadn't come with him. Erik, he assumed, had neglected to mention his plan to her, or to the rest of his group. Otherwise, they would be here. One of them, at least. Raven certainly, unless she had changed more that he believed possible. What was he planning on telling them when he returned? Had he planned on returning at all? All questions to which only Eric could provide the answer.

So why was it, Charles wondered, that instead of sitting with him and asking, or trying to convince him to remove that damned helmet, he was standing outside the house, enjoying the feeling of the sun soaking into his skin?

He had changed into his gray track suit, what the students had begun to describe as their PE kit, and a comfortable pair of sneakers. He marveled at how different they felt on his feet to the formal shoes he had been wearing earlier that day. Shoes that he had purchased after he was paralyzed, that he had never felt on. They pinched uncomfortably. The sneakers he had had since university were well worn and familiar.

He took a few steps and listened to the sound of his feet on the gravel. The damage done by a year of disuse had been reversed just as surely as the paralysis itself, and his legs felt strong and sturdy. He took several more steps, more quickly this time, and then finally began to run.

Charles had always kept in shape. He relished the feeling of adrenalin pumping around his body as he pushed his muscles to do more, work harder, go faster. That hadn't changed this past year, but the forms of exercise he had been taking had altered significantly. He still enjoyed what he did, but there was nothing quite like running.

With every step, his feet hit the ground with a satisfying sound, varying as he alternated between running on the path and the grass. His arms fell automatically into sync with the movement of his legs, pumping through the air, helping to increase his speed further. His heart pounded in his chest, his lungs dragged in extra oxygen, his muscles began to tire, and even that felt good. The satisfying ache that comes when you push yourself just the right amount.

Finally, reluctantly, he slowed so a walking pace, then stopped altogether, bending over, resting hands on knees as he breathed slowly and steadily, filling his lungs with the oxygen his muscles were crying out for. His whole body, his _whole_ body, felt tired, but buzzing with energy. He felt alive, free, as though he could do literally anything.

What he did do, was sit down on the grass, chest still heaving from the long run. He pulled off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and placed his feet straight onto the ground, feeling the grass tickle the soles of his feet and poke up through his toes, feeling the slight dampness of an earlier rain-shower that here, in this shady, secluded part of the grounds, the sun had been unable to dry away.

Sitting barefoot on the ground, shielded from view from the house, off the beaten track where he knew he was almost certainly alone, Charles Xavier did something he had not done for many months. He began to cry.

* * *

It was a temporary lapse, he was exhausted, not just physically from the run, but mentally from the strain that the day had taken on him so far. The sudden, unexpected appearance of Erik and the promises he made, too tempting to be turned down. The joy of being healed and the pain of knowing it wouldn't last. The knowledge that at this very moment, Erik was taking a crash course in paralysis, and no doubt not enjoying it very much. The realization that Erik still cared about him enough to do this, even if it was a gift he would ultimately be forced to turn down.

As much as he didn't want to...

Angrily, he wiped away the tears. He was past that. He had been past that for a long time, and he wasn't going to allow this temporary gift to become a setback.

There would be other cures. The world was a wonderful place, becoming more so every day. New mutants with abilities he had never even dreamed possible were being found, medical science progressed quickly. Nothing was impossible. Not any more.

And even if this was, what of it? He had achieved so much this year, setting up the school, taking on students, helping them to learn about and accept their gifts. Accept themselves for who they were. He could hardly expect them to do that if he couldn't do the same thing himself.

Charles got to his feet and walked back to the mansion barefoot, holding his shoes in one hand and relishing the feeling of the living earth under his feet.

* * *

A/N - I have more that is already written. I'll post it as soon as I've made a few minor edits.

Feedback is loved.


	4. Chapter 4

It was strange how out of place he felt here now. A stranger trapped in a closed chapter of his life. Yet at the same time, everything was so familiar that it was difficult to believe he had been gone so long.

He glanced out of the window to see Sean practicing flight, reveling in the freedom that that ability gave him. Eric was responsible for that. Erik and, of course, Charles. The idea that it was theoretically possible had been Charles', but after his fall from the window Sean would never have made that leap if not for Erik's rather forceful hand on his shoulder.

So familiar were his surroundings that he felt that he could go downstairs to find Raven lifting weights in the gym or slouched in front of the TV. She had always appeared so comfortable here, in the place where she had grown up. She didn't seem way any more. More comfortable in her own skin, yes, but less so in her surroundings.

"How _is_ Raven?"

Erik started. Charles' voice behind him. He reached for the helmet on the table in front of him and placed it on his head again before manipulating the metal in the wheelchair to spin himself around to face the telepath.

"Sorry," said Charles, sounding anything but. "Habit, I suppose."

Erik said nothing.

"If you take it off again, I promise to stay out," Charles offered. "Frankly, it looks ridiculous. Maybe for battle situations, but it's hardly appropriate everyday wear."

"I don't wear it every day," Erik told him. "Only when I need to protect my thoughts."

"Well, just so you know, it doesn't suit you one bit. And it gives you a terrible case of helmet hair."

Erik shook his head and bit back the comment that not everyone was as concerned with their hair as Charles. The conversation was beginning to feel a lot like their old banter, the gentle, affectionate teasing from the time when they had been friends.

_We're still friends,_ his mind supplied. Erik blinked, half convinced for a moment that Charles had found some way to circumnavigate the barrier of the helmet and communicate telepathically through it. But no. The statement had come from his own mind.

"Is Daniel recovering?" He asked.

Charles frowned for a moment in confusion before he nodded. "The boy. I never even asked his name. Yes, he's still resting."

Erik nodded. The boy had told him that doing this would weaken him, but he had not realized by how much. He felt almost guilty, he had, after all, asked him to do this.

"And you?" Charles asked. "How are you?" He moved from the doorway, into the room and sat down on the desk chair. Erik immediately felt more comfortable. "Any pain?" Charles asked.

Erik shook his head. The complete absence of feeling was uncomfortable, but that was more an emotional discomfort. There was no physical pain. The idea had never even occurred to him. "Do you..?"

Charles shook his head. "Not really. Not any more. I keep it under control with a few exercises every day."

"Before we leave, you will have to show me," Erik stated

"I don't think that's going to be necessary," Charles told him. "You've taken something from me, Erik. Perhaps not something I particularly wanted, but nonetheless I don't intend to let you leave before you return it.

Erik frowned deeply. "I don't understand why you won't simply accept this," he said. "I did this to you. I didn't mean to do it, but still, I did. I should be the one to deal with the consequences of my actions, not you."

Charles shrugged. "Perhaps you're right," he said. "In an ideal world, no one should have to suffer for the actions of another, but this is far from an ideal world, Erik. You know that better than most."

"That is something I'm trying to change," Erik said. His fists clenched involuntarily as he spoke. "I'm trying to make the world a better place. A fairer one. How can I do that, knowing what I did to you?"

"Your fairer world would be fairer only to a select few," Charles said. "It's not a world I would like to live in. And as for how to live with yourself, I don't blame you for what happened. What I said that day, on the beach..." He paused, looking away, out of the window and over the grounds, but Erik got the impression that Charles was somewhere else entirely. "You're not responsible," he said finally. "It was an accident. The result of several things happening together at the wrong time. True, if you hadn't been trying to destroy the ships... but that's a discussion for another time, I think. Perhaps when things have been put right."

Erik shook his head. Charles was stubborn when he wanted to be. Even without the ability to read his mind, the telepath clearly knew his friend well enough to manipulate him effectively. But it wouldn't work. His mind was made up. "Things _have_ been put right," he insisted.

Charles smiled sadly, rising to his feet to leave. "My friend, please," he said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. "Every time you force me to turn down your gift, it becomes harder to do. I'm not strong enough to continue like this. Sooner or later, I'm going to stop fighting you and let you go. And that is something that neither one of us really wants. Thank you for the offer, and thank you for today, but tomorrow this needs to be undone."

"I saw you running," Erik said. He glanced toward the window, under which Charles had begun his jogging around the grounds.

"And as I said, thank you for that," Charles repeated. "But we both know this can't be permanent. Tell me you won't fight me over this."

Erik sighed thoughtfully. One hand traced the unfeeling flesh of his left thigh, and it was still so very, horribly strange. He closed his eyes and nodded, just once.

"Thank you," Charles said. "Now then, you can take off the helmet, you know I didn't influence your decision. Besides, I'm trying to instill some manners into the younger children. How would it look if you were allowed to wear that thing to dinner?"

Erik hesitated. The helmet was a useful tool, but it wasn't designed to be worn all the time. It got uncomfortable after a while.

Charles sighed. "I promise not to read your mind," he said. "Actually, in addition to teaching the students, I'm trying to tutor myself in a little self control."

Charles, who casually glanced at the thoughts of everyone he met without even thinking about it, who flicked through their memories like an old photograph album and made no secret of what he was doing. Self control? Erik wondered whether he had it in him. Taking a chance, he lifted the helmet from his head and placed it back on the table. It left him feeling exposed, but for some reason he did trust Charles.

"Thank you," Charles said. "Now, dinner. I must warn you, it's Sean's turn to cook."

Thinking back to undercooked potatoes smothered in tomato ketchup, Eric grimaced.

"He's improved slightly since then. Not much, but his meals tend to be edible now."

Erik shot him a look, trying to decide whether the telepath had already gone back on his promise, or whether that particular memory was simply too obvious not to be guessed. Charles appeared not to notice his reaction.

"Shall we?" he said.

Erik nodded. He glanced down at his paralyzed legs and the metal chair in which he sat. Even using his power to force the chair in the right direction, his movement had been clumsy and the unfamiliar motions required to turn the wheels had been awkward and uncoordinated. "I'll meet you down there." he said.

Charles gave him a look that made him feel his privacy had been violated once again, but he nodded, and left without saying a word.


	5. Chapter 5

The thing about being a telepath was that even if you didn't mean to, you tended to pick up on things. Even without directly reading someone's mind, things spilled out. Charles hadn't been lying when he said he had been working on control. And he was having some success. Before, the minds around him had appeared to broadcast thoughts to him, and it was impossible not to listen. Now, it was more like the thoughts were written on a page in front of him. Staring straight at them, it was difficult not to read, but not impossible.

Sometimes, however, things were impossible to ignore.

Even someone without the slightest hint of telepathic ability wold have been able to pick up on the tension around the dinner table. The main culprit was Alex, but Sean and Hank seemed more than willing to play along at giving Erik the cold shoulder. The mood that they pumped out into the room was detected by the new students, who ate their meal in almost complete silence, casting nervous glances at Erik, the only new factor in the group, and therefore the most likely reason for the atmosphere.

"So," said Alex. Every eye in the room turned to look at him. Alex's gaze was fixed firmly on Erik. "Shot anyone other friends recently?"

"Alex," Charles said, shooting him a warning glance.

Alex was transmitting thoughts. Deliberately, thinking a stream of words very hard, knowing that Charles would hear him. _You know he deserves it._

Erik, to Charles' relief, didn't dignify the question with an answer. He appeared lost in thought, and Charles carefully concentrated in another direction, determined to keep his promise not to read his thoughts.

At the opposite end of the table, where the new students were sitting quietly, was a cloud of questions that they didn't dare ask. Who was new man, and where he had come from? How was the professor was suddenly healed? Why had no one mentioned it? What was for desert, and would Sean be offended if they left some of their mains?

"Well, Sean," Erik said, breaking the silence once again. "Congratulations, you appear to have learned to cook edible food."

Sean blushed slightly and shrugged, mumbling something unintelligible, and just like that the mood of the room shifted. There was still nervousness and curiosity, but overridden by a more familiar, family atmosphere. Everyone relaxed, even Alex, and began to enjoy their dinner. Or, enjoy it was well as they could. Sean had improved, and Erik's assessment of his culinary skills as 'edible' was accurate. Beyond that, however, there was little complementary to be said.

* * *

After dinner, with the students enjoying their leisure time, Charles and Erik retreated to Charles' study.

The sun hung large over the horizon as Charles glanced out of the window. "It's certainly been an interesting day," he said. He turned to look at Erik, who nodded without speaking. "Are you all right?" Charles asked him.

"Just tired," he admitted.

Charles nodded. Erik looked exhausted, but it wasn't just a physical tiredness. Even without reading his friend's mind, he could feel the fatigue weighing down his thoughts. It was a very familiar kind of weariness, one that had plagued Charles often during the months following his injury. One that plagued him still, on occasion, after a particularly trying day.

He smiled sympathetically and nodded. If the boy was up to it, Erik would be healed tomorrow. If not, the day after at the latest. "I was going to suggest a drink and a game of chess," he said, "but under the circumstances, perhaps just a drink?"

But one drink turned into several as they talked into the night. It began to feel almost like old times. As they talked, throughout the house, Charles felt the others fall asleep one by one until only a few remained. Someone woke up. Someone not immediately familiar to him. He frowned.

"Problem?" Erik asked from the other side of the chess board. They had decided to play after all, and Erik's tiredness was proving less of an advantage to Charles than he had anticipated. Perhaps he was equally exhausted. After all, today had been draining for him too. And he had been running.

He shook his head. "Your friend is finally waking up," he said. "I've sent somebody to check on him."

Erik nodded. "When he said using his power tired him, I had no idea he meant this much."

"Yes," Charles said. "It seems almost cruel to ask him to do it again." He smiled, alcohol making the world look slightly different, enabling him to say things he wouldn't normally. "What would you do, I wonder, if he refused?"

Erik considered the question for a moment. Charles skimmed the surface of his thoughts. For all his earlier bravado, the idea frightened Erik. He took a breath. "I would adapt," he said, "as you have done."

Charles moved his bishop and took Erik's knight. He didn't consider a distracting topic of conversation to be cheating.

"And you have done so admirably, Charles," Erik added. "I have to admit, I had no idea what this would be..." he tailed off unable to meet Charles' gaze, and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," Charles said. He heard his voice tremble slightly as he spoke, and finished his drink in one long swig. "It wasn't anybody's fault. Sometimes things happen, and we have to live with them. This is far from the worst way that day could have ended." He could say that now. He knew it to be true. A year ago, even a few months earlier, he may have spoken differently. "I'm okay," he promised.

Erik nodded. "I know," he said. "But still, I am sorry."

Charles got to his feet. He swayed slightly under the influenced of the alcohol, and almost smiled at the rediscovery of a forgotten sensation. He clasped Erik on the shoulder. "Apology accepted," he said. "Not needed, but accepted nonetheless. Come on, this game can wait for tomorrow. I think it's time we called it a night."


	6. Chapter 6

Charles rode with him in the elevator up to the second floor of the large house, they exited, and Erik paused, expecting Charles to bid him good night before they went to their respective rooms. Instead, Charles turned left, in the direction of Erik's room.

Erik frowned. Had Charles changed rooms in the year since he had lived here last? It was possible, he supposed. Likely, even. He suspected a lot of changes had had to be made to the house, the ramp by the front door was probably one of the smaller ones. Moving rooms may have been easier than, say, widening a door, or navigating a wheelchair through an awkward corner.

Without comment, Eric began to maneuver the chair toward his old bedroom. His hands turned the wheels slowly, coming up against a little resistance from the carpeted floor. He pushed slightly on the metal frame, guiding himself in the right direction, making movement a little easier. Making it look like less effort.

Ahead of him, Charles entered Erik's room. Erik followed him inside, and Charles closed the door after him.

"Charles?" Erik asked.

"You didn't think I'd abandon you to do this alone, did you?" Charles asked. He glanced from Erik to the bed and shrugged. "It's not as difficult as you might think, actually, but that doesn't mean it's easy."

His meaning was obvious. Erik eyed the bed for a moment before and glancing down at his legs, trying to work out the logistics of movement. He thought back to his earlier attempts at levitation. Difficult, but not impossible. What he really needed was a large piece of metal placed somewhere in the room. Above the bed would be preferable, he could pull on it to raise himself upward.

He was seated only a few feet from the bed. Such a short distance, yet at this particular moment, it might as well be at the other side of the state. He could only imagine how daunting a task such as this must have seemed to Charles at the beginning, unprepared, newly injured and without the advantage that Erik's mastery of magnetism provided him.

Charles frowned. "Did you bring anything to wear to bed?" he asked.

"No," Erik said, simply. He was very tired, and getting into bed was supposed to be an end to the stresses of the day, not some daunting, challenging task requiring creative thinking and upper body strength. "I didn't expect to still be here," he added.

"Well," Charles looked thoughtful, "I suppose I could lend you something. It wouldn't be a perfect fit, but for sleepwear it hardly matters."

Erik shook his head. The small pieces of metal in his clothing gave him a mobility he wouldn't otherwise have. He couldn't give that up. Not to mention that just the idea of trying to change made him feel even more exhausted than he already was. All he wanted to do at this point was collapse into bed.

Which brought him back to the conundrum of how to get there.

"I'm fine," he said, "I'll sleep in this."

Charles nodded. "I'll help you into bed," he offered.

Erik froze, considering. On the one hand, he had no idea how to do it himself. And this was Charles, who knew exactly the thoughts running through his mind at this particular point in time. Even if he was keeping his promise not to peek into his thoughts, he knew from his own experiences. On the other hand, the indignity of it...

He shook his head. "No, I can do it myself."

Charles folded his arms across his chest as though embracing himself. He said nothing for several moments, and then licked his lips before he spoke carefully thought out words in a measured tone. "Erik. My friend. I am sorry, but I don't think you can."

"I am perfectly capable of doing this without being lifted," Erik insisted. "My power allows me to..."

"Ah," Charles interrupted. "So you've been using magnetism somehow. That explains several things." He took a step back and unfolded his arms. "I had no intention of lifting you," he said. "I intended to instruct you, the way my therapist instructed me. I can guide you through the process. Magnetic abilities aside, if you want this, as you claim, you need to know these things."

Erik frowned. Did Charles...

"Yes," Charles replied to the unspoken thought. "I know you're still considering leaving before things can be put right. And before you ask, I read it in your eyes, not your mind. I still won't allow it, but if you insist on trying, you should at least get the full experience first."

For a moment, Erik thought he detected a hint of malice in the statement, but almost instantly, it was gone. If it had been there at all, Erik could forgive it. He knew his own arrogance. He had been wrong in his belief that this would be easy, and Charles had every right to prove it to him.

"Okay," he said. "What do I do first?"

"Actually," Charles said, "it would be easier if I showed you. Do you mind if I..." he touched two fingers to his temple, their sign for the use of his powers.

Erik hesitated, but nodded his reluctant agreement.

"Position your chair next to the bed," Charles said. In Erik's mind, an image of the correct position appeared, and he maneuvered himself to match it.

"You might want to remove your shoes first," Charles suggested.

Erik glanced down. Forgotten in his inability to feel them, he was still wearing a heavy pair of boots, soiled slightly from use. Hardly appropriate nightwear. He bent forward, resting most of his weight on one arm, careful not to fall forwards, and carefully removed the boots from numbed feet. It felt as though they belonged to somebody else.

When he was done, Charles nodded. In his mind, Erik saw himself moving from the chair to the bed in a series of relatively simple motions. Charles' power allowed him to almost feel himself moving, the muscles of his arms working to drag him from one place to the next. He felt as though he had done it before, and he could do it again.

He followed the instructions in his mind, lifting himself, moving in the right direction, balancing his weight correctly to avoid falling. He could feel himself doing it. He was almost there...

He slipped.

His weight shifted to an arm positioned slightly wrong, not able to support him. He felt himself go before it happened, but it was too late to prevent it. Instinctively, he tried to stand, and failed. Panicked arms grabbed at any solid structure, but it was too late to right himself. He landed on the floor, next to the bed, just in front of the wheelchair.

He glanced up at Charles, more embarrassed than anything else. He had slowed his fall by grabbing the bed and the chair as he slipped, and hadn't landed hard enough to injure his body. Only his pride.

He reached for his power, manipulating the metal in his clothing and the room in an attempt to lift himself up.

"No cheating," Charles said, somehow managing to mentally push away his power.

Erik blinked in surprise and looked up at his friend. The push had been casual, frighteningly so, considering it's effectiveness. He didn't reach for the power again.

"You'll feel better if you do it yourself. Trust me," he said gently. "Just get yourself back in the chair."

Erik closed his eyes as another rush of images and false muscle memory was pushed into his mind. This maneuver appeared easy too, but he wouldn't trust that this time. He gritted his teeth, and followed the instruction. Leaving his power untouched for the moment.

After several minutes, sweating from exertion, he finally pulled himself into the chair. He glanced at Charles in triumph. Charles smiled, looking almost as relieved as Erik felt.

Erik drew in a deep breath of air, and then looked once again at the bed. The distance, though it remained physically the same not appeared insurmountable in his mind. He sighed, and turned to Charles. "I..." he paused, reluctant, and sighed. "I think I may need some help," he said.

Charles nodded. Without comment, he stepped forward, pulled back the cover of the bed, bent slightly to pick him up, and easily lifted Erik from the chair. He was stronger than he looked. He deposited him gently on the bed, and then took a step back, allowing him to position himself how he wanted on the mattress.

Erik found it difficult to meet Charles' eyes, but when he did, he saw no triumph there, and no gloating. He only saw his friend.

"There is no shame in asking for help, Erik," Charles said softly. He turned to leave. "I'll see you in the morning."

With that, he walked away, closing the door behind him and leaving Erik alone with his thoughts.

* * *

A/N - and that was it, back in 2011. Working on more now though. Bear with me...


	7. Chapter 7

Charles found sleep oddly elusive that night. He felt Erik drift off almost the instant he left the room, and the other minds around the house were mostly silent. Downstairs in his lab, Hank was working on his latest project, a device that would project a hologram around the wearer, allowing them to temporally change their outward appearance. It was slow in coming, and Charles suspected it may be years before it worked, but when it did, it would make a huge difference. Not just to Hank himself, but to any other mutants they may encounter who looked anything other than normal.

Charles dreamed of a world where they would be accepted for who they were, where such an invention wouldn't be needed, but in reality he knew they were a long way from that, and he had witnessed the difficulty Hank had had since his transformation. For the most part, he stayed in the house and grounds, never venturing into town unless it was with Charles, who could alter perceptions for him.

For all the pain and difficulty Charles had been forced to endure over the past year, he couldn't help but think things were worse for Hank. Though ignorant people may stare at him in public – and that had been difficult to get used to – at least they didn't point and whisper, or run away. Much.

He shut out the flow of technical thoughts from Hank's mind, and tried to sleep. It was impossible. No matter how he lay, he found himself constantly noticing things. Like the brushing of the bedsheets against the bare skin of his feet when he moved – moved – his legs.

_It's temporary_, he reminded himself. _Don't get used to it_. But he knew that it wouldn't last, that tomorrow it would be over, and that was the reason that all he wanted to do was get up and run. And possibly keep running until he found somewhere where the others couldn't find him. Where he could live the rest of his life like this. Whole. Free.

It was an idle fantasy, of course, not something that he would ever truly consider. But as the clock ticked down the minutes until morning, when what Erik had done would be corrected, he found that his mind wandered to places it would never ordinarily go.

Finally, at some time in the early hours of the morning, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Erik woke early. Wakefulness crept up on him slowly, nipping first gently at the edges of his mind, before penetrating deeper, a little at a time.

He opened his eyes to see his old room at Charles' house, and for a moment, he felt as though he had never left. That moment was followed by a brief stab of confusion as he remembered how long it had been since he had called this room home, before the memories of the previous day settled back into his mind.

He was laying on his back, in the same position he had been when he had fallen asleep, almost at the instant that his head had hit the pillow. It wasn't surprising, it would be almost impossible for him to move around much in bed, considering how much forethought and planning had to go into any movement at all.

His back and arms felt slightly sore from unfamiliar use. The lower half of his body was, of course, completely without feeling. He touched one of his legs with his hand, just checking. He ran his fingers up the side of the leg and to his torso. Sensation reappeared just above his hips, and from there upward was completely normal. Below, there was nothing. Someone could stab him with a knife and he wouldn't feel it.

It was indescribably strange. He would never get used to it, he was certain of that.

Outside, the sun was starting to rise and the dawn chorus was in full swing. Erik positioned his arms on the bed to either side of him, and pushed himself into a sitting position. The wheelchair was still next to the bed where he had left it. The maneuver from chair to bed had been difficult, but getting back again looked less daunting. If not, he had the metal in his clothing to help him.

With hindsight, although that had been a good idea, he really needed some other method. Perhaps in addition to a source of metal in a room to provide leverage, some kind of magnetic framework, something that could be strapped directly onto his body, so that he wasn't being dragged around by his clothing. Like leg braces, for example. With something like that, and the right amount of concentration, he might even be able to look as though he was walking.

"___If you're using half your concentration to look normal_, then you're only half paying attention to whatever else you're doing."

His own words drifted unbidden into his mind. It had been easy to say at the time, and he still believed it, but just as Mystique needed to disguise herself sometimes, there would be times when he needed to appear... normal was the wrong word here, there was nothing abnormal about using a wheelchair, but the concept still applied. Sometimes, he would need to appear as though he could walk unaided.

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. That was a problem for another time. For now, he needed to occupy himself with the slightly more pressing conundrum of how to get out of bed. The alternative was to lay there and wait until someone appeared to help him, and that was no alternative.

* * *

Despite the late night, Charles woke before his alarm. As had become his habit – a bad one, he supposed, but one that did no harm – the first thing that he did was to reach out with his mind, making brief contact with the other minds surrounding him, seeing who was awake, who was in, who was still sleeping.

In the rooms that now housed the younger students, two or three to a room to give them some company, he felt nothing but relaxed minds, still deep in sleep. That was okay, it was Sunday, they were entitled to a lay in. He could hardly chastise them for not being up and working on their homework or chores while he was still in bed sleeping off the effects of a late night drinking with a friend.

He smelled the welcoming, morning scent of coffee in the air, though he suspected that it hadn't reached his bedroom, at the other side of the house to the kitchen, but rather he was perceiving it thanks to Hank, who was currently in the kitchen making a pot. The boy, Daniel, was also in the kitchen, sipping a glass of orange juice while he answered the curious questions about his life and his power coming from Hank and Alex. Sean was still sleeping, enjoying a dream that Charles escaped from instantly. Too private to share.

Erik was awake already, somewhere in the house. He pulled back from his friend's mind instantly before he could learn more. Glad to find the horrible metal helmet still absent, and determined to keep the promise that had convinced him to remove it.

Satisfied that no major catastrophes had occurred during the night, Charles retreated into his own mind, and pushed back his bed covers.

It had been the little things that he missed the most, since his injury. Things he hadn't even thought of before. Yes, it was wonderful to be able to run, and jump, climb the stairs and not have to worry when he was going somewhere new that he might not be able to get himself inside, but the things that had fascinated him during this temporary reprieve were things like reaching the top shelf, the feeling of the ground under his feet, standing under the water when he took a shower. Life was made up almost entirely of little things, and they were the things that really mattered.

Charles sighed. Another run, he decided. A good, long run, and then a hot shower and a good breakfast. The boy seemed fine now, fully recovered as far as he could tell, which meant that today they would put things right.

This would be his last run.

He paused half-way out of bed, as the thought hit him hard. He brushed it aside. This was a reprieve, a gift. A chance to do the impossible. Rather than dwelling on what he was about to lose, he needed to focus on the now, enjoy it while it lasted and allow the knowledge that it would soon be over to enhance the experience rather than detract from it.

He got out of bed and quickly dressed in his track suit and sneakers. Sneakers, an appropriate name for his footwear, considering. He reached out with his mind and determined the location of everyone in the house, waiting until the way to the door was clear. The action made no sense, not even in his own mind. It wasn't as though he was doing anything wrong, he had no reason to be ashamed. He slunk out of his room and down the stairs, treading carefully, remembering still which steps creaked. If this was to be his final run, he wanted it to be private. Uninterrupted. Perfect.

He closed the back door behind him and instantly set off at a jog, putting distance between himself and the mansion. He would be back. Of course he would. Idle nighttime fantasy aside, he had a duty to the students, to his friends and to Erik – especially to Erik, to return and set things right. But for now, he allowed the world around him, his worries, his conscious and subconscious thoughts to fall away.

Nothing existed but himself, and the ground beneath his feet.


End file.
